


Someone to Watch Over Me

by dustlines



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Gratuitous comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Platonic Cuddling, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2020-07-19 16:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19977382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustlines/pseuds/dustlines
Summary: Sam and Dean are forced to take a long, hard look at the way Castiel's been feeling lately when they wake up to find the angel has passed out on their couch.





	Someone to Watch Over Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2013 and set post-8x17, probably as a response to the infamous "crypt scene" in that episode!
> 
> Contains a lot of non-sexual, comforting touch, and can be interpreted as either gen or shippy, focusing on Dean and Castiel.

* * *

Dean wakes to the grating hiss of Sam's voice in his ear and his younger brother's freakishly large hands shaking him roughly. Before Dean even knows what's being said, he startles, shoving a palm against Sam's face to move the fleshy, mouth-yammering skin away.  
  
"Mmrgh, Sammy! What did I tell you about knocking?"  
  
Not even slightly fazed, Sam peels Dean's hand from his face and tries to drag his older brother from the comfy warmth of his blankets. "Dean, Dean, listen, I need you to be quiet and not freaking out, okay?" Sam yanks at Dean's arm even harder. "It's Cas. He's on our couch. _Sleeping_."  
  
"Cas?" The back of Dean's head feels like it's been doused in kerosene and lit on fire, so great is the dizzy adrenaline rush going up his spine. He throws off his blankets, in his half-awake state nearly ramming into the edge of the doorway as he darts to leave his bedroom. He snags the old wooden frame with his fingers and uses it to right himself as he rounds the corner. "Which couch?"  
  
"Outside the kitchen." Sam's already at his side, and their bare feet slap softly against the carpeted floors. "I got up for some water, and I found him slumped over on the chair."  
  
Dean's chest does a weird, squeezing thing, half terror and half excitement that they've finally convinced Cas to come here when he needs to. "Was he hurt?"  
  
"No, only sleeping. I checked. He was breathing, just—"  
  
They're nearing the room being spoken about, so Dean holds up a hand and shushes his brother. He can see now how only the kitchen's lights are on, casting a murky, gray glow across the small living room area beside it, where all the bookcases and weird, stuffed animal cadavers on pedestals can be found. A decorative golden eagle on the wall dips in and out of shadows, its wings clipped by darkness and its glass eyes still gleaming brightly. On the green velvet couch, there is a figure sitting with his head slumped back, the familiar width of those tan coat-wearing shoulders unmistakeable, even in the shadows. From the kitchen, Dean can still smell the spaghetti they had for dinner before, and it's throwing him off a little.  
  
Heart pounding as though he is confronting something bigger than he's ready for, Dean slows his footsteps and circles the couch until he is facing the slumbering form of the friend he hasn't seen since Cas broke free of Naomi's mind control so many weeks ago. Dean can't see the angel tablet anywhere near Cas, but he finds he doesn't really care. Without speaking, Dean gestures for Sam to turn on the table lamp beside the couch, and with a nod followed by a click of metal, Sam does.  
  
The green glass bubble lampshade glows warmly in the dark room, not bright enough to extend much farther than the couch, its purpose really only to help someone sitting there to read a book uninterrupted at night. Cas' face is still halfway in shadows, facing away from the light, his chest lifting and falling in a steady rhythm.  
  
Dean goes to his knees, leaning forward. Just before he brushes Cas' kneecap with his hand, he says his name, and Cas startles, blue eyes shifting through shadows and then warm light as he turns his gaze to settle on where Dean is crouching on the floor by his feet.  
  
"Dean." Cas begins to push up from the couch before Sam, reaching from behind the couch, puts a hand on Cas' shoulder and gently presses him back into the forest green velvet. Cas looks up at Sam, appearing close to mortified, though this is only noticeable through the slight widening of his eyes and a minuscule clenching of his jaw. "Sam."  
  
"Hey, bud." Dean gets up to slide into place beside Cas on the couch. Cas' body is between the lamp and him, so that the angel is haloed by the lamp's golden-green light when he looks at Dean. "You're sleeping now?"  
  
"On occasion." Cas' voice is a gravelly, sleep-foggy wreck. Sam's hand is still on his shoulder, and Cas cranes his neck to look up at the way Sam is leaning over him in obvious concern. "I'm not falling," he adds, like this is pertinent knowledge. "I can sleep if I decide to. The vessel is fully capable of allowing it."  
  
"Listen, you've got to know you can crash here whenever you want to," Dean presses his lips together, feeling worry carve out a deep pit into his stomach, "but you've never done it before. You feeling all right?"  
  
Cas looks again above his shoulder at Sam, and then furrows his brows slightly. Dean can't really blame him, since he and Cas aren't really in the habit of talking about feelings when around Sam. At least, they haven't really done so before. Still, since Sam was the one who found him here, it's not like Dean can just kick him out.  
  
"Hey, it's okay." Dean doesn't know who he's talking to, Cas or Sam, but they both relax marginally at the reassurance.  
  
Without releasing Cas' shoulder, Sam goes around the couch and sits between Cas and the lamp, his broad shoulders shielding their eyes from the green-gold glow. "What's going on, Cas?" he says, still with that hand on Cas' arm, and Dean finds himself wishing he could find it in him to be so casually affectionate like his brother can be. There's a mounted weight on Cas' back, invisible but clearly crushing him, and Dean doesn't know how to help with that.  
  
Turning to Sam, Cas swallows, a shadow running with his adam's apple down his neck and spilling into the unbuttoned gap above his tie. "The tablet is protected. I've put it somewhere safe, and—"  
  
"That's not what we meant, Cas." And what the hell, if Sam's being touchy-feely, Dean can be, too. Noticing Cas' knuckles look cracked and dry, Dean pulls Cas' hand into his lap, holding it between both of his palms. Cas' skin is cold, so Dean tries to rub some warmth back into them, despite the furrowed look of confusion Cas gives him. "We meant you. You've been through a lot lately. How're you holding up?"  
  
Cas looks down at his hand, and then at Dean's hand on top of it. He shifts as if to pull away, but then something dark and painful builds in his eyes and he settles, clutching the fabric of Dean's sweatpants below their joined hands instead. Cas' gaze turns to Sam. "I've not been well." After a pause, he adds, faintly, "I don't know what Dean's told you about that."  
  
Sam's gaze flickers past Cas, landing on Dean as a silent question. Dean hasn't told Sam many specifics about some of the things Cas has been confessing to Dean lately, since the conversations he and Cas share tend to feel more personal than most, and so Dean's assigned to them a certain, enhanced level of privacy. Cas suggesting he could hurt himself is one of those unshared topics. Still, Sam's smart, and Dean trusts him to fill in the gaps.  
  
"We're worried about you," Sam says, softly, and Castiel, with a tight-jawed nod, looks down with a vague twitch of a smile that is anything but happy. He leans towards Sam, slowly at first but then just slumping against his side when Sam lifts an arm for him to settle beneath it.  
  
"I think... perhaps you are right to be." Cas' voice is thready and weak, far softer than any tone Dean has ever heard him use. Behind his back, Cas grips Dean's hand desperately. "I've been..." He doesn't seem to have the word. He lets out a shuddering breath, and then finishes, "...so very tired." The confession sounds like a bad tooth being yanked from him, leaving him bleeding in the aftermath. Shutting his eyes, he buries his face in Sam's shoulder.  
  
Feeling tense all over, Dean shifts closer, so that his hip is braced against the bent curve of Cas' back. Sam catches his eye over Cas' back, very clearly asking Dean if he's okay with what's happening, to which Dean glares and sends a silent _shut up_ in Sam's direction. Dean can be cuddly, too, damn it. He keeps one hand gripping Cas' hand, and frees the other to run lightly across Cas' back. "Hey, we're right here, okay? We're not going anywhere."  
  
Against Sam's shoulder, Castiel nods his head. He's trembling lightly, as though he's holding back tears, but the lack of ability to see his face makes it hard to tell. Either way, Dean's worry is increasing. Sam, meanwhile, holds Cas' upper back in a loose hug, while his other hand runs soothingly up and down the arm that is still clutching Dean's hand. Cas' legs are unmoving, his free hand slack in his lap and his feet braced loosely against the carpet. He looks like he's reached the end of his tether, like it's just too much effort for him to hold himself up.  
  
Dean glances over his friend's slumped over form, feeling a knot grow spiky in his gut. He catches Sam's gaze, and his younger brother's eyes fill with understanding.  
  
"Hey... Cas?" Moving slowly, Sam puts his hand under Cas' chin and guides him away from his shoulder. Cas' face is glistening with tears, absolutely soaked with them, though his expression is stoic and serious: an obvious attempt to hold off the emotions threatening to destroy him. Sam's voice is gentle when he whispers, "Do you want to hang with Dean for a while?"  
  
Cas is silent for so long, just steadily meeting Sam's gaze, that Dean honestly isn't sure what his answer is going to be. Then Cas nods, somewhat jerkily.  
  
"Please."  
  
"Okay." Sam starts getting up from the couch, nodding at Dean. "Dean, uh, maybe you should lie down."  
  
After just a moment's shock, Dean fumbles out an awkward, "What? Um, I mean yeah, sure." Cas looks over at Dean, his face so tense with fear Dean is amazed his cheeks aren't cracking. "Well, um, you are tired, so. Right, okay. C'mere, Cas." He holds out his hands for support as Sam crouches to lift Cas' feet from the carpet.  
  
Sam swivels Cas' legs so that they're resting on the cushions instead, and Dean, still bracing Cas' shoulders, slides downwards so that his own legs can fit beside the angel's. Sam guides Cas' body gently downward, helping to settle the crown of Castiel's head just a few inches below Dean's chin. There's a vague, road dust scent in Cas' hair that Dean breathes in deeply, recognizing the burnt tires and river mud scent as easily as if it were his own. He wonders where Cas has been all this time, thinks maybe he doesn't want to know.  
  
The back of the couch should be enough to keep Cas from sliding off, but Dean still lays his palm flat against the bumpy vertebrae between Cas' neck and shoulders, just to make sure. When they're both still, Cas exhales shakily and buries his face against Dean's shoulder. His obvious relief at being held is enough to make something in Dean's stomach hurt. He hadn't known Cas even had this particular need for comfort, and it seems like Cas hadn't known, either, at least not until now.  
  
"See?" Sam says, and Dean can't tell if he's talking to Dean or Cas when he adds, "That's not so bad, is it?" After brushing a gentle hand over Cas' hair, and then Dean's (which Dean finds rather degrading, but he doesn't say anything, because that would mean complaining about the friendly touch Cas got, too), Sam goes over to the lamp, hovering there for a moment. "You guys need anything before I go?"  
  
Dean takes a deep breath, feeling his heartbeat echoing against Cas'. He can already feel dampness on his chest where Cas' tears are still flowing, but aside from that, the angel isn't moving. It's the most alien way of crying Dean's ever seen, like the pain is just slowly leaking out because Cas doesn't know how to let it go at once. All Dean thinks he can do is wait it out, however long it might take.  
  
"Yeah," Dean decides, thinking he might be here for a while, "a blanket." He points with his chin. "I think there's one on the shelf by the fugly chair with the leopard spots."  
  
"You mean the mildewy chair?" Sam gives Dean a disbelieving look, but he's already padding across the carpet to the tattered, splotchy chair in the corner.  
  
Dean's face twists, and he makes a disgusted noise deep in his throat. "That's what that is? Ugh, Cas, you picked the right couch. There's random gross crap all over this old place."  
  
Cas huffs, just a little, but doesn't have any commentary to add. Maybe he just doesn't have any strong feelings about mildew. When Dean runs a hand over the tense lines of his back, Cas seems to get even heavier. Dean thinks he's still crying, but maybe a little less painfully than before. Their legs are tangled, one of Cas' knees wedged between Dean's, but still with a fair amount of caution, like he's not sure if he's allowed to be that close. Dean bumps their knees together, an almost playful gesture, and the tension in Cas' body lessens. When Sam throws the blanket over them, a soft, warm expanse gently covering their bodies, both Dean and Cas sigh at roughly the same time.  
  
"Okay." Dean gives Sam a thumb's up over the blanket, to which Sam offers them a soft, sad smile. "We're good."  
  
"Yeah." Sam flicks the table lamp off, leaving only the grayish kitchen light nearby to halfway brighten the room. "Hold on, I'll turn the light off in a minute."  
  
Sam pads into the kitchen, bare feet somewhat louder on the tile floor than they were on the living room carpet. Dean hears him gathering the glass of water he mentioned to Dean earlier. The faucet turns on and then off with a hiss, and then Sam turns off the kitchen light. When he comes back into the living room, he's guiding his path with the light from his cell phone.  
  
"Stay as long as you want, Cas," he says, managing to make the offer sound both sincere and casual in a way Dean thinks he wouldn't know how to. "There's food in the fridge if you want it. Sleep well, guys."  
  
Sam leaves, and Dean and Cas are left together in the darkness, feeling each other just breathing. Dean can't believe how insanely grateful he is that they can do that. Shutting his eyes and resting his head against the velvet softness of the couch's arm, Dean tightens his grip on Cas and moves his thumb soothingly over the bone of the angel's shoulder blade.  
  
"D'you wanna talk about it?" he whispers, and Cas' hand clutches the shirt gathered around Dean's hip. Surprisingly, he doesn't have to wait long for Cas' answer.  
  
"I've been considering falling."  
  
The thought punches all of the air out of Dean's lungs, and he has to consciously make an effort not to lurch. His eyes open, though he can't see anything in the darkness. He has to focus instead on the way Cas' body is molded to him, trying to decide whether the angel feels tense or calm alongside the words he's saying. Right now, Cas feels very calm, so he must be serious. "What, you mean, like, choosing to?"  
  
Still leaking from his eyes, Cas sniffs, but that only sounds vaguely wet. "I don't belong in Heaven anymore." He rubs his cheek against Dean's chest until he finds a place where he's comfortable. "Earth has been... kinder. And more fulfilling." He hesitates, before laying his hand loosely beside Dean and gripping his upper arm, where the burn scar of Cas' handprint used to be. Dean feels what might be Cas swallowing, just a lump moving over his chest before Cas adds, "When the gates are closed, I want to stay here."  
  
Dean's throat tightens, swelling with unexpected feeling, and he's glad for the darkness that keeps his own reactions hidden. "Whatever you want, you know we've got your back."  
  
"I am aware, and am grateful." Cas idly shifts, and Dean can tell drowsiness is starting to influence his movements. Before Cas can allow his vessel to let him sleep, Dean pokes him lightly in the side.

"Hey," he says, "you know we set up a room for you, right? You don't need to crash on this couch."  
  
Cas' head lifts, his palms on either side of Dean's chest so that Dean can only feel the bones of Cas' wrists against his ribs. "What?" he says, and his voice grates out of him in shock. The space where Cas' head had been feels suddenly all too cold.  
  
Torn between laughing or feeling really, really badly that Cas didn't know, Dean lifts a hand until he finds the warmth of Cas' face, the bristly stubble on his jaw perhaps a little too familiar to Dean's hand by now, though the wetness of Cas' tears is something distressingly new. "Hey, I _know_ I prayed to you about that."  
  
"Oh." Cas settles back down after a moment, and Dean feel his friend's arms shifting as he wipes away his own tears. "I'm starting to suspect Naomi blocked or otherwise faked some of your prayers. Anything that might make me feel like I didn't belong with her, she didn't appreciate."  
  
The breath Dean lets out is almost a growl, but Cas tenses, and so Dean shuts his eyes and calms himself down. When he feels like he's not going to react badly, he says, "Well, do you want to check your room out? It's even got a little black and white TV in it. Maybe you'll find that cool, I dunno. We can get you a different one if you hate it."  
  
"Perhaps later." Cas breathes lightly, his fingers tapping an unknown rhythm against Dean's ribs. Dean notices after a moment that Cas is mimicking the thumping of his heartbeat. "Dean?"  
  
And maybe the heartbeat thing is throwing him off a little now, because Dean groans. "Wait, no, Cas, come on, I'm nearing my mushiness quota for the night."  
  
"Even so." Cas rests his cheek on Dean's chest, and Dean lightly holds him there so he won't fall off of the couch. "Thank you. You and Sam both."  
  
"Yeah, well," Dean grunts, looking away even though they can't really see each other anyway. Though maybe Cas can like, read his soul or something right now, so all the diversionary tactics in the world won't matter. "It's getting hard to find a good angel these days. We're not gonna lose the one good one we've got."  
  
Maybe Cas smiles at that. Maybe he doesn't. Dean doesn't think it matters, and it's too dark to tell. Dean clears his throat and says, quietly, "Go ahead and sleep, Cas. You can stick with us no matter what you decide, you know that." And because he knows Cas needs to hear it sometimes, Dean adds, "You're family."  
  
Cas exhales, long and slow, and finally all of the tension is out of his body. He keeps resting there, draped over Dean like a giant cat. "You're my family, too," he says, half an exhausted sigh and half pure relief. Dean thinks this might be the only time they've said this to each other in a situation that wasn't deadly, and he thinks there's something wrong with that.  
  
The lump in Dean's throat has a life of its own, kicking and screaming against him when Dean blurts out past it, "Hey, Cas, we really care about you, you know that? And I mean you, not just what you can do." He squeezes Cas tightly around the waist and (mostly) keeps his voice steady when he says, "I'm glad you came back."  
  
Cas doesn't answer, but he doesn't have to. He's had his affections for them constantly weaponized against him, practically from the moment he'd raised Dean from Hell, and so Dean will be amazed if Cas can ever freely echo sentimental words back without feeling nervous about them. The broken, flighty way Cas had confessed his love for Dean and Sam in that mental hospital so long ago still haunts Dean, in part because he thinks that, crazy as Cas had been at the time, he'd still deserved to hear it back, and no one had even tried. Dean's never going to force the issue with Cas. The fact that they know Cas feels fondness for them has to be enough.  
  
After a moment, though, Cas shifts. He says, quietly but still sounding pleased, "I thought we were done being mushy."  
  
"Oh, for god's sake." Dean bangs his head back against the arm of the couch. "Cas, go to _sleep_."  
  
With a faint, amused breath, Castiel settles for the final time that night, leaving Dean to stare into the darkness that hides the ceiling from him. Dean feels strangely calm, despite not having complete awareness of his surroundings. Cas is nearby, after all, and Dean knows neither one of them would let anything happen to the other if they could ever help it. Being near Cas, no matter what the angel thinks, is probably one of the best places Dean can think to be.  
  
After a while, he lifts a hand and brushes it over the back of Cas' head, feeling the angel's hair shift and separate under his palm. Dean realizes, in some faint, indistinct corner of his mind, that he's never touched Cas' hair before, unless the beard Cas had in Purgatory counts. It's just one of many affectionate touches Cas has likely had to go largely without during his many years of being dumped here on this planet and left to fend for himself, and yet the angel had still somehow learned to love the Earth like it was his own, probably more so than most humans ever have.  
  
"Y'know," Dean whispers into the darkness, but he doesn't think Cas hears him, "you'd make a cool human." The angel is boneless against him, slumped over and breathing lightly though his mouth. Dean's probably going to wake up to a puddle of drool oozing down his collar, ugh. Rolling his eyes, Dean turns his face to bury in the side of the couch, over Cas' shoulder. He figures, if Cas can't hear him now, well, he'll just have to tell him in the morning.  
  
With a sigh, Dean closes his eyes, and, feeling safe and warm, they both let themselves drift into sleep.  
  
.  
  
2013.03.31

.

* * *

Please leave comments if you enjoyed this! I am a lonely soul, and feedback helps me feel my words mean something.


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